Silent Truth
by Captain Hilts
Summary: Noah MacManus looks upon his sons for the first time in twenty-seven years. And they, understandably, have nothing to say...at first. Oneshot.


_Author's note: I was struck by this idea at random... Ment to feel like an extended scene of sorts. (Because we all wanted to know what the hell was going on haha) :D Enjoy._

* * *

In his experience, silence was profound.

The silence of prayer, of imprisonment, of death—he had experienced them all. But even Noah MacManus had never heard silence as deep as he stood before the two young men, their youthful faces splotched with blood, their bodies tense with adrenaline and rage. Their black Beretta .45s were trained on him, unwavering. He was sure they could kill him without a second thought, but something stopped them.

He knew it was the very thing that stopped him from killing them.

Noah stepped closer and they slowly lowered their pistols. Their faces were calm, their jaws set and lips pressed together despite his approach. With the echoes of the family prayer still in his ears, he stood before the two of them and stared.

Their expressions betrayed nothing, but their eyes told him they were lost, bright with hidden tears at the lost of their comrade, still slumped lifeless in the chair behind them. What struck him most was the familiar shade of blue to their eyes, familiar to him only in distant memories.

Noah reached out to cup their bloodied faces in his hands, and they stared back at him. They were not his eyes, but those of the only woman he had loved, whom he had left some twenty-seven years before.

And the boy to his right looked just like her.

Noah tilted his chin up in his hand and smiled to him. A strange expression fell across his face and he looked to the other, whose eyes had focused on Noah and would not look away, scrutinizing and confused. He looked as Noah had when he was a boy, even with the splotches of blood across his face….

He knew then they were his sons.

"Connor."

His twin sons.

"Murphy."

Their eyes narrowed simultaneously, but their gaze never left him as he smiled again. He wiped the blood from Murphy's chin and he jerked away at his touch.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

The question hung unanswered between them. Connor flinched as Noah laid his hand on his head amidst the matted, curling hair. Murphy seized Noah's arm and squeezed, as if touching his brother was forbidden. His grip threatened to break the bones in his wrist, but Noah remained silent.

"Who the fuck are you?"

He removed his hand from Connor's head and Murphy released his hold. The light cast harsh shadows across his pale face, highlighting his scowl. It was a look they shared, and another grin curved Noah's lips.

"You, Murphy, and your brother…you are my sons."

A thick silence filled the room and they stared at him. He took the cigar from the corner of his mouth and removed his sunglasses to better see their faces. Murphy shook his head.

"Bullshit!"

His voice cracked from the intensity of the word. Connor turned to him.

"He knows the prayer, Murph."

"Ma said he was dead!"

He seemed almost distraught, as if he didn't want to believe. Connor shook his head, and his eyes locked with Noah's again.

"She said he left, that he was as good as dead," he murmured, "That doesn't mean he was."

Murphy finally looked at him. Noah could sense the disbelief, the anguish. There was fire in his eyes. He hurried to his feet and pointed at him, his teeth bared in a sneer.

"He tried to fuckin' _kill _us."

Connor stood beside his brother. Briefly they glanced at the dead man in the chair next to him, pennies over his eyes. Murphy shifted his weight from foot to foot, glaring back at Noah. Connor's voice was quiet.

"And there's a reason he couldn't…"

It was difficult to understand, to admit. But the Lord worked in mysterious ways, as Noah knew all too well. It bothered him to see his sons covered in blood, distrustful of him, confused and in pain. He'd thought of them every day since the day he had left them in the care of their mother, and though he was gone, it did not mean he hadn't loved them. Connor looked back at him and he could see a peculiar hope in his eyes.

"He's our father, Murph."

They stood in silence once more, so quiet Noah could hear the ringing in his ears and the soft patter of water. Perhaps it was blood; he couldn't tell. Murphy sniffed and wiped the blood from his nose, almost like a child scrubbing dirt from his face.

"We'll see about that."

Connor hung his head. He knew. If he was anything like his mother, he knew deep down, if not instinctively. But Murphy would go on believing what he wanted until proven otherwise. Noah wouldn't expect anything else from him. Again they looked back at their fallen friend and Murphy squeezed his eyes shut. Connor spoke. His voice was hoarse, as if he held back tears.

"…what happens now?"

Noah laid a hand on his shoulder and there was no opposition this time. He took a moment to observe them both, from Connor to Murphy; hope and doubt.

"We will do what we must, son."

Their future lay ahead, dark and uncertain. But they would have each other.

God willing.


End file.
